Wings
by captainodonewithyou
Summary: My dear friend mused about CS meeting in a psych ward and I ran with it. AU, of course. (Mental illness is a very strong factor here and this story is very heavy. Please be aware that this may be triggering and avoid it if it might be harmful to you)
1. Chapter 1

He has lunch at the wrong hour every day until they give up on trying to stop him. He is stubborn, and he has learnt to fight for what he wants until he gets it (which is _particularly _easy here, doctors and nurses alike worried for the fragile state that he is fairly certain he no longer is in. But he does not complain). It is not for first pickings on the good food, either, although he does not complain when a charming smile manages to drag a few extra potato tots out of the sharp, wirily lady whose worn nametag reads "Sue." She scoops food onto his tray with a shake of her head and a roll of her eyes that promises no matter of charisma will convince her the next time (it always does, anyway).

It is the view. The seat that faces the table by the window that they reserve for _her_. She is a princess in her own right, flowing golden locks alone enough for her to stand out from the greys and whites and stark dullness of the place.

She _shines_.

The first time he'd seen her was after his first week in. After blank white ceilings and stark grey sweats and heavy thoughts in black and white, when he was beginning to think they'd only gone and made everything _worse_; that was the first moment he caught a glimpse of bloody sunshine disappearing around the corner. He had been meant to be meeting his doctor. But he found himself redirecting, slowly moving to where he _swore _he saw the light.

And she stood there, halfway down the hall with the crabby old janitor that haunts the upper levels of the hospital. Her curls hung carelessly beautiful down the back that is turned to him and his fingers clenched tight on the edge of the wall when her melodic voice reached his ears.

"Seen the other dwarves lately, Grumpy?"

He nearly snorted at the nickname, pulling back behind the corner when the unamused janitor glanced his way.

"Have any of them said anything about Henry?"

The dwarf muttered something in return that he couldn't understand, and by the time he realized she'd disappeared down the hall it was too late.

"Who was that lass?" He'd asked the janitor when he'd come back around from searching down the hall, nearly thinking he may have seen a ghost.

"The blonde?" His voice was gruff and he rolled his eyes, "That was the _Princess_ Emma."

And perhaps it is wrong of him, but he is captivated by her. He arrived early to his appointments from then on, hoping to catch sight of her and smiling crookedly at Archie's look of surprise the first day he came out and saw _he _was the one waiting.

"Did you decide my assistance isn't worthless after all, Mr. Jones?" He asked, thumbing at the edge of the glasses he wears that are perpetually askew.

"Perhaps I've simply had a change of heart."

He knew in the way his eyes narrowed and his forehead folded that he did not believe him, but the words were not a lie.

He had forgotten how it felt to look _forward _to something.

But he has no trouble remembering the dragging familiarity of anxiety opening a pit in the center of his gut when lunch is _half _done and she still has not appeared at her usual spot. He chews one of his last tots slowly as he watches the spot where she _should _be, trying to tell himself that his worries are completely ridiculous. That she probably had her appointments at odd times, that he'd see her in the hallways or at lunch tomorrow.

And then he feels someone sit down beside him. He turns swiftly, preparing his best act to protect his territory and keep it to _himself_, but whatever he intends to stay catches in his throat.

_It is her._

He swallows hard.

"What're you doing?"

She is beautiful and when she rolls her light eyes, it is effortless.

(They shine green beneath the bright summer sun that curtains messily around her smirk).

"I'm not blind," she tells him simply with a shrug. "I see you watch me."

Words fail him as she reaches to his plate and swipes one of his hard-earned tater-tots, looking him up and down. He tucks the arm that ends in a stub self-consciously nearer to his side but her sharp vision catches the movement, and he could swear her smile turns smug before she pops _his _lunch into her mouth.

"Mmm. I like onion rings better." She informs him in matter-of-fact terms, and he snaps himself out of it.

"Oi, why'd you bloody take it then? It was my last one!"

She stares seriously at him, but he is certain the corner of her lips twitch as she ducks nearer to him.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't one of the territorial ones," she breathes conspiratorially, and he would be offended if was not so distracted by her warm breath on his cheek. When she pulls back, she smiles again, widely, and _Gods_, she somehow manages to make the grey sweatsuit that hangs loosely from her body look like the highest fashion. He catches sight of the book that always seems at her side in her lap, her fingers curled tight around the spine.

"I was hoping you weren't," she continues, "I'm Emma and you can have one of my onion rings tomorrow, if you want. To make up for your potato crap."

He catches himself gawking at her again. She moves _quickly_, so quickly he has struggled to force his sluggish mind to follow her through the haze he usually resides in.

And he cannot manage to puzzle out why the _hell _she's in this joint.

"I don't recall inviting you to sit with me tomorrow," He finally says with a tilt of his head, still struggling to add her up. Her nose wrinkles in disgust that makes his heart skip a momentary beat.

"No, I'm inviting you to sit at _my _table. You can actually see the world outside of this shithole from there."

She glances up at the single clock that hangs high and barred on the wall above the kitchens. He follows her vision and is dismayed to find that lunch is finished. When he looks back, she is already on her feet. He hurries clumsily up after her, grabbing his tray and following her towards the trash bins (that are attached to the floor, of course, because God forbid someone decide it'd make a nice weapon). She waits for him, book held snug to her chest, and smirks as she watches him dump his entire bowl of spinach away.

"Greens keep you healthy," she tells him offhandedly as they move towards the door. He snorts.

"Why do you think I'm _here_, love?"

She does not answer, but her arm brushes his as she turns to stop him in the doorway.

"Tomorrow?" She asks, and for the first time he catches a hint of distrust in her narrowed eyes.

"It's a date," he promises, flashing her his winning-est smile. She studies his face and nods once, slowly, before beginning to turn in the opposite direction.

Then it hits him.

"Wait," he calls, catching her wrist softly and breathing a sigh of relief when she turns and does not attack him for the contact (It is always a gamble within these walls). Her eyes are wide and concerned and he continues, "I never told you my name."

Her brow furrows a bit and she frowns.

"I know your name." She says, small frown tugging at her lips, "I told you I'm not blind."

She nods at his crippled arm, then raises her eyes back to his.

"You're Captain Hook."

He watches her disappear into the crowd, and suddenly he can read the puzzling Princess as clearly as the book tucked safely at her side.


	2. Chapter 2

"You've changed."

Archie looks carefully at Killian over the rim of his crooked glasses, fingers folded neat on the desk in front of him.

Killian cannot recall a time in his stay at the hospital he has _enjoyed _these meetings with his doctor. It had all come in a rush that rendered his general ability to charm his way out of anything absolutely useless; and by the time he'd found his bearings the daily meetings in the stuffy, cluttered office had been made a very solid part of his routine.

"'s probably the hair," he answers seriously, sinking deeper into his seat and settling a heavy foot onto the psychologists desk, "I tried mussing it up with water from a _brand new_ sink today."

The doctor does not even flinch at his behavior, shaking his head and mirroring his movement of becoming more comfortable in his seat, eyes still trained steadily on him.

"I have heard from Miss Swan that the two of you have been spending quite a bit of time together?"

Killian shrugs.

But it is true. In spite of her flaws, Emma has proven to be a ray of light. He cannot argue that the time he has spent with her hasn't sent pinpricks of color creeping through his cracks.

She is eccentric, but not in the odd way he has come to find the other people in the hospital to be, the ones he avoids. She is a breath of fresh air; full of stories and daydreams and a nearly _infuriating _incessancy that everyone has a happy ending. The book she carries is her son's; he gave it to her to remind her to have hope, and she never failed to repeat the message to Killian again and again, hammering it into him, promising that hope was the best magic of all.

But his illness does not work in the same way as hers, and he knows that the fairytales she lives by are just that. It makes him ache a little, knowing she will never get the happy ending that she so covets. But she is so happy regardless that he nearly finds himself in envy.

* * *

"She talks a great deal about you Killian." Archie speaks carefully, forehead knotting, "And she does not talk a great deal about much."

The words pique his attention, and he cannot help it when a single brow twitches up in interest. Archie catches the movement of course, and continues.

"She likes to pick people to help. People she thinks need the _most _help."

He clenches his teeth at the words.

"I am no damsel in distress, mate." He mutters through a tense jaw.

Archie shakes his head, still cautious.

"No. But distress does not have much to do with it. She just…" He pauses, and Killian knows he is picking his words carefully, struggling to protect her from him without breaking her confidentiality.

And he _knows _it is he that Archie is trying to protect her from.

"I don't intend to fuck up whatever progress you've made," he says bitterly, leaning his head back as far as it will go to stare up at the ceiling, "You can bloody relax. I like her."

"She will only be content once you have found your 'happy ending,' Killian. Whatever that is."

_And the penny drops._

He does not lift his head to remeet Archie's gaze, instead staring at the patterned cracks in the ceilings that he could probably draw out in his dreams.

"Well, she is in for a rough one, eh?" His futile attempt at humor falls flat, and the air around him is heavy. He traces the longest line with his eyes, printing it lightly on the arm of his chair with a finger as gives it a constellation in his mind.

He misses the stars.

"Have you been thinking about your brother?"

They have passed the formalities, and are back to the questions that he knows as well as the lines on the ceiling. A yes rises to his tongue—and then he stops, slowly tilting his head back towards Archie as the realization settles oddly in his mind. He drags his fingers from the arm of his chair to instead trace slowly along the scars where his hand used to be.

"…_No_."

Xxx

He goes straight to the rec room once Archie has let him go because it is where they have agreed to meet. Emma insists she has a surprise for him and he is tentative as he rounds the corner to the short hall that leads into the room he visits most rarely. It is meant to be the fun room. There is a small box television in a corner with a circle of chairs placed meticulously to cover the space the couch was (until it was discovered one of the addicts from the other end of the hospital was using it to store his loot). In the other corner there is a foosball table that Killian has learned it is best just to lose on. There is a small shelf of games and various tables scattered about.

Emma of course has gotten them prime seating in front of the television. She has brushed her hair—he can tell in how the ends of her waves fray, and it takes her a moment after he has sat beside her to turn his way.

"Hook." She greets with a reassured smile that he is finding he is becoming used to. She never expects him to show up.

"Swan," he greets in return, smiling back crookedly. "So what is this surprise I have been so anxiously awaiting?"

She rolls her eyes, but a tiny laugh bubbles out of her.

"Patience is a virtue."

She glances at the screen of the television, which is dark. It is an old TV but not old enough to have buttons, and the orderlies are the only ones with remote rights. But they have known to be bribable, and Killian suddenly grins, knowing _exactly _what she has planned.

"Movie night, then? Practically a date, isn't it?"

She shakes her head now, but her smile is wide as she hugs her book close.

"_Insatiable_." She muses, and a smirk cracks widely across his face. His eyes fall to her book, and her smile softens as she watches.

"Perhaps we can have reading night sometime, as well?"

Her arms tighten around the book, and she studies him softly.

"Depends."

He has gone and flattened the cheery mood and he knows it. He only contemplates a moment before slipping from his chair onto the floor, slipping his fingers around her wrist and tugging her down after him just as he hears the orderly walk up behind them and flip the television on. She settles in a neat heap beside him, and shoots him a look.

"Why are we on the floor?" She asks, eyeing the twitch in his lips warily.

"The chairs are nailed too bloody far apart," he answers in a whisper, and he lets out a low breath when she settles her head contently on his shoulder, soft hair curtaining and tickling soft against his arm.

"Don't raise a challenge you can't deliver on, _Captain_," she breathes as Peter Pan flickers onto the screen, and he sighs.

"Think this is funny, do you?"

She smirks.

Groans sound around them as the other members of the audience register that it is Disney (again, and everyone is just beginning to have had it with Emma's obsession). But it takes only one sideway glare about him to frighten every mouth shut.

They make quite a team, really.

They move to one of the unoccupied tables when the movie is finished, and he can tell in the way her eyelids flutter that she is exhausted. But she forces them open and plasters that smug smile to her lips as she makes herself comfortable in the chair across from him, lifting her book onto the table and flipping it open, to a page he can tell she spends the most time on because of the fold in the seam.

She gives it a soft push across the table towards him, and draws her arms back to cross over her chest.

It is the first time he has seen her not touching her book.

"You're the one who wanted storytime," she says, and rolls her eyes softly, "Stop staring at me and try actually looking at the book."

But he _is _reading; the lines in her face that are drawn tighter than usual and the cloud in her eyes keeping him just on the edge and the way the corner of her mouth twitches into the tiniest frown when it takes him a moment longer to glance down at the pages she has entrusted him with.

It is a familiar fairytale painted with beautiful intricacy. A lovely woman asleep in a tomb with a knightly man standing by, staring down at the coffin. The woman's skin is painted white and it does not take much for Killian to determine who the couple are.

"Snow White and Prince Charming?" He muses, and peers up from the page at her. She is watching him with clearly bated breath, and nods once. "Are they in here too, then?" He takes a quick glance around the room, eyes settling on one of the younger girls with jet-black hair and circles under her eyes, "It's her, isn't it?" he adds with sureness, nodding towards where she plays 'Trouble' alone.

Emma snorts, and he furrows his brow in challenge.

"I don't know who she is. She isn't in the book," She pulls it back to her and flips a few pages forward, before shoving it back at him, biting back a gleeful smile. "Snow White is special."

He glances down again, this time to see the same woman, awake—and extremely pregnant. He puzzles over it a moment but then shakes his head, looking to Emma for help.

"I don't understand."

Disappointment flashes through her eyes and she sighs at his (obvious) naivety.

"Snow White and Prince Charming are my _parents_." She explains slowly, watching for his reaction, and _Gods_, there is no end to her imagination.

He fakes a noise of understanding that she sees straight through, eyes hard and jaw clenching.

"You think I'm crazy, too." The words are stated dryly, no hint of question, and he can _see _her closing off to him, see her drifting away.

He clenches his jaw, shaking his head and searching his mind for something he can say, something to bring her back and follow through on his promise to Archie that no, he _would not_ screw her up more than she already is.

He hates to think what might have happened to her that she has to rely of the fairytales and happy endings her son entrusted her with to make her world bright enough to survive.

And as much as her optimism irks him at times, he really cannot help but admire her for choosing the happiness, however fake, rather than crumbling weakly beneath the pressures in the way he did.

"No." He finally gets the words past his mouth as she stares at him bitterly, crossing her arms protectively around herself, "No, of course I don't think you're crazy, Swan. I think you might be yanking my chain, though. Snow White and Prince Charming? They are bloody iconic, love. I just… I can hardly believe they are your parents."

The enthusiasm behind his voice must be more believable this time because her expression softens minutely.

"Well they are," she says, and shrugs, "it kind of shocked me, too."

He smiles to hide the breath of relief he lets out.

"How did you go about learning they were your parents, then?"

These words change her expression fully, small wistful smile playing at her lips.

"Henry. He is such a goddamn sneak. He decided he wanted a family reunion. And he is stubborn as _hell _so he found them, and… yeah. We reunited. And it turned out they were royal. Every orphans dream, right?"

Her smile is so bright and open and he doesn't know how she does it. He is mystified by her.

"Right."

There is a pause and she is still smiling and he is still puzzling and finally, he knows he must break it.

"So which character is Henry?"

It is her turn to look puzzled, staring back at him with a knot in her brow for a beat before answering.

"He's not. He's just Henry." Her smile breaks wider, "My parents said he might come along next time they visit. Maybe if you actually _behave _Archie might let you meet them."

This time, when the smile cracks along his face, it is completely real.

"I'd like that."

"Good."

Xxx

He has later-nighttime privileges than she does on account of supposed progress, so her orderlies come and fetch her long before he is even thinking about his little white cell. But the rec room is slowing down and another movie is being put in, so he decides it is time to move location.

It is only as he gets up and makes to move towards the door that he notices her book is still laid out open on the table, forgotten behind.


End file.
